


It Shouldn't Be This Hard

by RunawayCaboose



Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: Acceptance, Anxiety, Coming Out, Gen, Homophobic Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Referenced Alcoholism, Referenced Child Abuse, but ultimately feel good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayCaboose/pseuds/RunawayCaboose
Summary: Eamon should've told him last year, the year before that, exactly anytime before the day at hand, except he didn't. So here he is, with words laying heavy on his tongue and in his mind.





	

Conor’s apartment isn’t neat. Records on the coffee table, reflecting sunlight like oversized water rings, jackets on the backs of chairs and hanging on any available hooks, dust illuminated in the sun streaming in through the window. Raphina’s out at the shops, Eamon vaguely remembers her asking him if he needed anything, but he doesn’t remember if he said anything in return. Probably not, he reasons, but he’s pretty sure he’d say thanks anyway. 

If Conor’s apartment isn’t neat, Eamon has no idea what Conor is. Disheveled, maybe. Unkempt, but not in a bad way. In a “I kissed my girlfriend and she pulled my hair” kind of way. Also a “I dress like I’m about to go to sleep way”. Again, not bad, not necessarily good, just Conor. Conor with his denim jackets and dog eared notebook and yellow guitar with the strap that Eamon could swear used to be his.

Eamon twists his hands in his shirt, it’s always been like him to be nervous, he probably gets it from his dad. The X-chromosome anxiety, it’s not uncommon, so he’s heard, but that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier when it’s night and he can’t breathe and he’s thinking about this very moment. This moment, right now, the one he’s sitting in while Conor gently plucks guitar strings and sound hums out into the dust filled air, golden sound in yellow sunlight. And Eamon, well, he can’t do anything right. Raphina’s going to be back from the shops soon and his chance to tell Conor will go and then it’ll be another year and he’ll do the exact same thing as he did last year. He tried to tell Conor then, but he put it off, dallied, wasted his chances and promised that he’d at least begin to say the words next year, and here he is. Saying nothing. He can’t say it when Raphina’s around, it’s not her fault, not anyone’s fault but his, he’s the one with the stupid hang-up about not being able to say important things, not talking about the important things around people he’s scared of crying around.

“Hey, Conor.” He says, before he can stop himself again. He sounds like he’s about to cry and he hopes Conor doesn’t hear it. Conor looks up, fingers stilling on the guitar.

“Man, it’s kind of good to hear my name. Raphina really only calls me Cosmo, which is cool and all, but… I’m Conor.” Conor looks at Eamon for a moment, clears his throat. “What’s up, dude?” It’s now or never, Eamon, he says to himself, man up and just tell him.

“So, do you ever get that feeling when you’re talking and it feels like you’ve eaten a peanut butter sandwich with too much peanut butter and it gets stuck to the roof of your mouth and you reach for a cup of water, but you didn’t get one, so the peanut butter just kind of slides to the back of your throat and sits there so you can’t talk?” Eamon asks, words coming a tad too quickly, but Conor seems to at least understand the words, if not the meaning that Eamon’s trying to convey to him. Eamon sighs, pushes up his glasses. “Conor, it’s hard for me to tell you this and I hope that you won’t see me differently after this.”

“What, are you dyin’ or something?” Conor asks, tilting his head back, laughing. And as suddenly as he started, he stops, looks at Eamon. “You aren’t, right? Don’t have lung cancer from all these cigarettes I’ve been giving you? Because it’d look pretty bad on me if I was the reason you’re dying and laughing about it.”

“What? No! I’m not dying.” Eamon takes a breath. Then another. The dust around them refuses to settle and Eamon closes his eyes. “I’m gay.” There are a few beats of silence, Eamon can hear his heart in his ears.

“Oh.” Conor says. That’s all he says, at first anyway. Nothing good, nothing bad, just oh. Eamon holds his breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, the blow to come. “Well, that’s fine.”

“Really?” Eamon keeps his eyes closed, trying to focus on the writhing purple shapes beneath his eyelids and not his best friend sitting next to him.

“Yeah, ‘course. What did you think I was gonna do, Eams? Throw you out or deck you or something? I couldn’t do that, I’m your best friend.” Conor chuckles lightly, pulls a few strings before stopping, letting the notes ring out. Eamon opens his eyes. “So… All the times that people called us fags, you…”

“Yeah, I really was one. Don’t think you can say fags though, least not without being disrespectful.” Eamon chuckles, fingers tapping against his wrist with his heartbeat.

“Seems kinda unfair, that you can use it and I can’t. I was called that too, y’know.” Conor points out, sticking the end of his pencil into his mouth.

“Yeah, I know. But you aren’t one, are you? You’ve got your life and your girlfriend and I’ve got my fag clothes and homo self.” Eamon laughs slightly because here he is, a gay in Conor’s perfectly heterosexual life. Conor hits him on the shoulder lightly. 

“Hey, don’t be rude to yourself now.” Conor says, softly. He’s half talking to Eamon, half murmuring to himself. Eamon doesn’t act like he heard him, or maybe he really didn’t.

“I thought you were so pretty in that dress you wore when we performed. I thought I could be straight.” Eamon laughs and it’s bitter, sour, he really has nothing to be laugh about. “I wish, right?”

“So, you liked me, then?” Conor asks, focusing on the first half of his sentence instead of the second.

“Conor, I loved you. I wouldn’t nearly fail my midterms for someone I only barely cared about.” Eamon points out, creasing his eyebrows.

“But, I’ve got Raphina…”

“I would’ve done anything to make you happy, Conor. If I’d come out to you then and you’d told me to off myself, I probably would’ve. And I’d still do anything to make you happy, but I don’t love you like that anymore. It’s… Platonic, I guess.” Eamon shrugs. “Don’t worry, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

“I never thought I would, Eamon. If anything, I’d be worried about you, I wouldn’t want our friendship to be over because I don’t feel the same way.” Conor explains, unhooking the guitar strap from around his shoulders. “I value you too much.” Eamon takes a breath, shuddering, like a weight that should’ve been lifted from his chest in still sitting there, stifling. “Have you told the others?”

“That I’m a fairy?” Eamon scoffs. “No, of course not.”

“Hey, stop that.” Conor hits him again, slightly harder, but still lacking any strength to be enough to hurt him.

“Stop what?” Eamon rubs his arm where Conor smacked him, confused.

“Calling yourself stuff like that. There‘s a fine line between, like, reclamation or whatever and just beating yourself up.” Conor’s voice drops off, soft and quiet, Eamon would say like velvet if he didn’t keep telling himself that it was weird. “Enough people have done that, you don’t need to too.”

“Ugh, I know, I know.” Eamon pushes his glasses up and rubs at his face beneath them. “If it was anyone else, I would be so supportive, but it’s me and… I feel horrible about it. I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Eamon, that’s weird.” Conor says, bluntly. Eamon chuckles. “But kind of justified. It was your dad, yeah? And other kids.”

“Yeah.” Eamon says, voice strangely even. “Da used to hit me around when he got too drunk, told me I liked it, a big man hitting me. I didn’t even know then.” His voice cracks. “How did he know? Was it written across my forehead? He just… How did he know?” Tears well up at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, Eamon, it’s okay.” Conor opens his arms and Eamon presses his face against his shoulder, glasses pushing up into his face. “S’alright. We love you, okay? I love you. You’re a great friend and I’m lucky to know you.” 

“Stop bein’ mushy.” Eamon mumbles, words blurred with tears and muddled by Conor’s shirt. 

“You’re crying on my shoulder and getting my shirt all wet, I think I’m allowed to be at least a little bit mushy.” Conor laughs, running a hand over Eamon’s hair. Eamon wipes his eyes, smudging his glasses in the process.

“Thanks for, like, not decking me.” Eamon says. Conor snorts.

“You know I wouldn’t, Eamon, but do you really think I could hit you hard enough to actually hurt you?” Conor asks, lips tugging up at the corners into a barely contained smile. “Because honestly, I don’t think I could.”

“Probably not.” Eamon agrees. “You’re weak. You weak, weak man.”

“Who’s weak?” Raphina’s voice drifts into the living room from the hallway and she ducks her head in. Eamon practically throws himself onto the floor to stop touching Conor. “Oh my, relax, won’t you? Or have you forgotten the night where you both got drunk and kicked me out of my own bed so you could write songs under the covers and fall asleep? Because I haven’t.”

“Sorry, Raphina.” Eamon mumbles, ears turning red. 

“So, what’s going on with you two?” She sets the grocery bags by her feet and perches on the arm of the sofa as Eamon relaxes back against Conor. Conor glances down at Eamon, who nods slightly.

“Eamon’s gay.” Conor says, slowly, leaving a large gap in between the words. “He’s gay.”

“Well, yeah.” Raphina smiles widely. “You didn’t know? Eamon, no offense, but it was kind of obvious, especially years ago.”

“None taken.” Eamon reassures her.

‘Y’know, when we were younger, I always thought that you might be the one to steal Cosmo away from me.” She gestures at her boyfriend, who looks confused and yet, mildly amused. 

“Jesus, Raphina, no.” Eamon shakes his head, vehemently. “You’re beautiful, you were back then too. I’m just Eamon.” Raphina clicks her tongue.

“You know,” She begins, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, “they say the most beautiful people can’t see it in themselves.”

“Raphina, you know that isn’t true.” Eamon rolls his eyes, but the blush is spreading to his cheeks.

“Yeah, sure, Eamon. All I know is that you’re pretty damn great and make Cosmo happy.” She slips off the couch and gathers up the bags. “You staying for dinner, Eamon?” He glances briefly at Conor, who nods.

“Yeah, I guess so, thanks. We didn’t get quite as far on the album as we hoped. Some things came up.” Eamon chuckles and Conor laughs under his breath.

“Well, you’ve got time, y’know. Nearly a year until your contract requires a new one.” Raphina reminds them. “So, what do you want for dinner? Chinese?”

“You just went to the store.” Conor points out. “Why don’t we make something?”

“Well, you two would get caught up in chords or something, leaving me alone to burn the potatoes, just like last time. So, we’re ordering in.”

“Sounds fair.” Conor shrugs and Eamon laughs into his shirt.

He wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @ taptaptapping.tumblr.com, feel free to drop by and say hi, i'd love to hear from y'all!


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